Of Salt and Sand

by Barnes, Michael

  Yes. Ruthanne had been wise in her request. Jessie did now understand; she did trust them. But the caveat—the sour at the center of the sweet—was that she had not understood how so completely her life would be changed . . . forever.

  What is HOPE, Gracie? she had finally asked, standing in that incredible underground arena, feeling so very overwhelmed and insignificant. She understood that whatever HOPE was, it was the very heart and soul of the group’s purpose; something deemed sacred, and the foundational drive for everything she had been shown. Jessie had nearly not asked the question, because she was afraid of the answer, thinking that HOPE would not only be incomprehensible, but something so momentous and powerful that it would literally be beyond this world. But she was wrong.

  When the answer finally came, she had been utterly shocked, for Jessie Goodwin understood exactly what it was . . . and its immensely important purpose.

  Gracie had explained it as she did everything, simple, yet complete:

  . . . using resources provided by a willing government, the Five had achieved—among other things—the technology to manipulate matter. But they were circumspect and clever, having learned from their former Nazi captors, and would not reveal but a fraction of what they knew and had discovered. Yet,—Gracie had explained—they were deceived, and part of this technology was stolen from them, and used to expedite what history would come to call, the atomic age. The credulous young scientists were horrified when the truth was discovered. They realized too late, the repercussions of a trusted government. Having seen what a fraction of their knowledge could do, the prospect of a bureaucracy armed with the whole of their abilities was an unimaginable outcome; one which could never be allowed to come to light. So, in a secret collusion, Eli, Ellen, Ruthanne and Jacob—working together at Los Alamos Laboratories in New Mexico—and Zen—from within a secret military base in Utah—made a solemn pact: they would spend the rest of their lives, and resources, in a fight to reverse and undo what they had begun.

  They started at Los Alamos. The Four faked their own deaths, an accident where they were buried alive underground, their bodies unrecoverable . . . it worked perfectly. With the Four lost, the focus then shifted to Zen, as they knew it would. Their plan, was that without his companions—his only family—Zen would became so manically depressed that he would be deemed impaired by military doctors, and incapable of carrying on his scientific research and development. Fortunately, and with some legal persuasion, the plan worked, and Zen was released from his military assignment . . . but not from military agendas. Later, when it was safe, the Five reunited. Together again, and in utter secrecy, they created their underground fortress, and conceived HOPE, or more specially Hyper Oscillation Potential Energy—a matter-redistribution technology. Now, after a lifetime of concealment, tireless work and testing, HOPE is at last complete, and ready for her mission of salvation!

  Here—and for the first time since Gracie began her explanation—Jessie grew a look of confusion. But Gracie, how do you undo . . . knowledge?

  You cannot, Gracie replied, frankly. But you can undo the effects of said knowledge, then work to stop it from progressing further.

  Jessie nodded.

  Gracie smiled, then continued. The HOPE project consists of two subsystems: a hidden control center within the underground complex—an umbilical station which we call MU1—and two orbiting satellites: HOPE1 and HOPE2—which by the way will soon be launched—she grinned, excitedly. They will be hailed as the most advanced communication satellite systems ever to be put in orbit . . . but this is a ruse. In reality, the two autonomous systems have been created and programmed for one purpose: to orbit the globe for a thousand years, scanning, locating and targeting all weapon-grade nuclear fuel. No matter where it is, no matter the type or the reaction of particle composites.

  Jessie’s look of confusion morphed into a stunned, blank expression. You mean there can’t be any more nuclear weapons made? she asked, keenly.

  Correct, Gracie proudly stated.

  What about fuel for reactors, for power plants and energy?

  Every type of nuclear fuel has a signature . . . a fingerprint, if you will—Gracie expounded—announcing what it can and cannot be used for. Our satellites will be able to differentiate down to the nucleus of every atom. Those with a signature for war-grade fuel will be transformed, made inert and deemed useless.

  And what about the world’s current stockpiles?

  Within weeks of HOPE going online, the world’s missile silos will house nothing more than flying tanks of propulsion fuel and benign warheads—no matter where they are concealed. HOPE can find them. Nuclear war and the requisite global annihilation will became a dark threat relegated to history books.

  But won’t they just shoot down your satellites? I understand that they can do that now.

  Gracie let out a snicker. Oh trust me, child. They will most certainly try. But their efforts will be in vain. Make no mistake, these systems can take care of themselves . . . and will for a millennia. Then she reached unexpectedly and took hold of Jessie’s hand. Her eyes became hopeful torches, as they burned deep the girl’s face. Now do you understand the great significance of our work?

  Yes, Jessie uttered, knowing without question that if she had not seen, touched, smelt and heard with her own senses—all of what now was burned so vividly into her brain—she would have made an resounding reply of no! . . . with a few added, are you crazy! to boot. But now, for Jessie Goodwin, the only reply that could be made was, yes Gracie. I do understand. And she truly did. So why then—throughout the entire night—did Gracie’s words menace her so. Jessie had laid awake contemplating every single sentence. HOPE had become so much more than just a mysterious acronym, a phrase, a thing. It was an entity, a literal tool of salvation, from its creation right down to its purpose and technology. It meant that she, and her children, and her children’s children . . . and so on and so forth, from that moment on, would sleep at night knowing that at least one of the most feared and terrifying avenues for mass destruction of life, would be forever lifted; not only from the shoulders of every living human, but those not yet born.

  Jessie sighed. It was a gift. Yet the whole HOPE, Avalon, solarium, Sandcastle experience . . . thing, had been so overwhelming. And then there was the other news; she hadn’t even had time to digest that awful disclosure. Teresa had found a . . . how had Gracie put it? An exceptional, affluent family in Salt Lake City, who wants the two of you desperately. Yes. That’s how she had said it.

  Evidently, Gracie had already had the family checked out and scrutinized in a way which only Gracie Reitman could accomplish—and they had passed her meticulous test.

  So there it was . . . Jessie’s night. All wrapped up in one earth-shattering nut shell. No wonder she felt like collapsing for a decade of solid sleep.

  A sudden knock came at her door. Jessie jumped, not expecting anyone. She assumed it was Sam, since no one else but Gracie would be out and about during the daytime. But she was wrong. It was Jacob. “Oh?” she startled at the door.

  “Hey. Can you, um, close your window shades so that I can come in?” he asked, standing in the hallway, just outside her door.

  “Of course.” Jessie tapped a button. All windows in her room went dark. She turned on the lights. “Okay,” she smiled, peering out the doorway. “It’s safe to come in now.”

  “Thanks,” he said, slipping in.

  Jacob was dressed in his signature T-shirt and levi’s. He wasn’t wearing his hat though, and his thick, dark hair rested across his head and ears as if he had just showered and let his mop dry without a single comb. “I just wanted to drop by and see how you were feeling this morning,” he said, leaning against the wall. “Given all that went down last night.”

  Jessie sat. “Yeah. What a night. I think I’m okay though, so don’t worry.” She even managed a smile. “I mean. It feels like,”—she hesitated.

  “Feels like what?”

  She shook her head. “Wh
en I was twelve, I got really sick. The next thing I knew, I was in the hospital getting my appendix out. I was terrified. But my parents said that when I woke up, I’d be okay. But they also said that I’d always be just a little different, because part of me would have been cut out forever.” She looked away. “That’s how I feel now, Jacob. Like I’ve awakened to find part of me gone . . . and that I’m a different person.”

  “Jessie. You are the same person you were yesterday at this time. The only change is that you were given something. It’s called, responsibility and choice. The two are intertwined. If left abandoned, they will always work against you. But the cool part is, once you take control of them, and set them to work for you, they can become your most powerful ally. Effecting your life for good in ways you cannot possibly comprehend.”

  She sighed. “I get what you’re saying, Jacob. But it’s easier said than done.”

  He nodded. “Of course it is. Anything of great value takes great effort, and time.” Then he sighed and stared enchantingly at her for a while.

  “What?” she said, needing every moment of that gaze. She would miss it more than he could ever comprehend.

  “Come on,” he finally said, standing. He held out a hand.

  “What?”

  “Gracie didn’t show you the good stuff,” he winked. “She didn’t show you because she doesn’t know about it—no one does. I’ve got my own hidden lab of . . . well,”—he laughed—“let’s just say, you’re going to be amazed. It’ll be fun.”

  She gave him a shrewd grin.

  “I want to introduce you to my favorite set of wheels.”

  “Your what?”

  “My Sandray. She’s a beauty, and you and I are going for a spin.”

  “Jacob,” Jessie hesitated. “Are you sure about this? It’s daylight!”

  “I know,” he said moving his eyebrows up and down craftily. “What? Don’t you trust me?” he continued, now both hands outstretched.

  “Okay. Sure. I suppose I could use some fun . . . and by your expression, some mischief I suppose.” She reached up and took his hand.

  “Oh, most definitely mischief!” he smiled, pulling her close. Then for no reason at all he hugged her, hugged her tightly—a long impromptu hug which he had not planned on. But he just couldn’t help himself. She was so beautiful, so innocent in that instant. As he stared into her wanting eyes, he ached to kiss her . . . both body and soul. He could hardly stand it! But then he remembered Eli’s words, and like an angel of conscience, they repeated back to him: you must think of Jessie . . . you must think of HOPE. It was all so unfair! Jacob gently withdrew . . . it was one of the hardest things he had ever done. “Let’s go,” he said in a flushed and broken voice. He tugged on her hand and they headed down the hallway.

  Chapter 42:

  There was much discussion the day after the event, as Eli coined it. Yet somehow, along with a conglomerate of other emotions, there was a sense of relief. Jessie was a very precocious girl. She had seen with her own eyes, a visual confirmation which could not be disputed. She understood and would keep their secret; they were confident in this. Sam, however, was a different matter altogether. But Jessie had convinced the group that she had a fool-proof plan for the talkative young boy, one which she assured them would be sound.

  That very next morning, Jessie had gone to Sam’s room early, before he was awake and could recount all which he seen the night before. She sat on the edge of his bed, and in the most grave voice she could muster, told him that if he ever spoke to anyone about what he had seen—whether it be glowing bugs or robotic companions—the state’s DCFS would separate her from him, forever. It was necessarily cruel, and Sam’s eyes had teared, his face had blanched, and he had grabbed Jessie around the waist as though he would never let go. No, Jessie! No! I’ll never tell a soul! I swear it! And she knew that he would not.

  Jessie had performed skillfully, and by the time she had left his room, there was no doubt of his silence . . . absolutely none. The authority of the DCFS was one thing Sam understood painfully well—he would never speak of the event again. In time, when he was old enough to question what had really taken place, he would have the temperament of maturity. And by then, nothing of what he had experienced would be extant. His memories would be the only evidence left to him, and like all childhood dreams, they too would have faded from fact to mere inflections of his past.

  About the same time that Jessie was giving Sam the talk, Gracie, Ellen and Ruthanne had joined in the library for some morning toast, juice and sliced fruit. It was an unusual request—Gracie’s suggestion for early breakfast, and in the library, that is. Ellen and Ruthanne didn’t normally do mornings above ground, for obvious reasons. The estate window-guards had to be sealed, which wasn’t a big deal, really, but certainly not the norm. But then what of the last 24 hours had been normal in any sense of the word? None of the group had slept, and there continued to be a looming sense of uncertainly—even though the night’s debacle had been . . . well, handled, in the only way it could.

  It was decided—among other things—to relegate Hank and Emma Sue back to their latent, and out-of-site status, for Sam’s sake. There was no need to tempt fate, especially after Jessie’s coercive chat—the boy had already seen things which could never be explained. Besides, there were only days left . . . days before the kids would be leaving the estate . . . permanently. It was a difficult negotiation, but unquestionably the only one which made sense, and not just for them, but for Gracie and the Four.

  It might have been this unpleasant thought, or perhaps the lingering trepidation from the previous night’s fiasco, but Gracie’s spirits seemed soured during breakfast. She buttered her toast, poured her juice, and went through the routine, but she was not herself. From the outside, her ensemble was as lovely as always—done up in a beige blouse with the usual lacy frills, white pants and a string of exquisite pearls; hair pulled back in an elaborate weave—but when she peered up from behind those stereotypical cat-eye glasses, she belied a hidden emotion.

  It was in this moment of observation that Ellen caught the old lady somewhere between a slice of silence and a sip of hush, smiling warmly at her. It was something, really, thought Ellen, winking back in that span of sentiment. As she eyed the small figure, she couldn’t help but notice the bright aura that wrapped itself around the old girl like a kindly blanket. It was caused by the library’s dominant backlighting of course, but for just an instant, Grace was an angel. Her countenance was brilliant, and her silver hair sparkled beyond the luster of her polished silver. And why not? Ellen continued in her reflection. She has sacrificed a lifetime for a better, safer world. But right now, this angel was troubled, and both Ellen and Ruthanne sensed it like a lingering scent.

  “Everything will work out, Gracie,” spoke Ellen softly into the silence. “In the end, you were successful in finding a good home for Jessie and Sam. Given what they have been through—and what might have been—this trumps all the risk. You were right to take them in.”

  “I must concur with Ellen,” added Ruthanne, her voice direct and level. “Even the events of last night—although initially catastrophic—will fade in time, and HOPE continues to be safe and on task. The well-being of Jessie and Sam are paramount, and you have done a great service indeed.”

  “And I understand from Jessie, that this weekend both she and Sam will be spending a trial period with their prospective new family?” Ellen added. “This is a wonderful opportunity for them.”

  “I suppose so,” Gracie mumbled. “Miss Henington will be picking them up tomorrow morning. The agency requires them to spend several days with this prospective family—under Miss Henington’s direction, of course—before allowing permanent placing.” She sighed wistfully. “I’m afraid neither of the children are looking forward to it . . . and neither am I.”

  “I see,” said Ruthanne. “This must press upon you greatly. I am sorry.”

  Gracie forced a smile. She nodded informally and sippe
d her lemon tea, but she remained dithering.

  Ellen eased back and settled in her chair more comfortably. “Well . . . with any luck, by the time Jimmy returns—”

  “Jimmy knows about the kids,” Gracie declared. Her statement came like the blast of a sonic boom. She set her cup down firmly. She shook her head in frustration.

  Ellen gasped and Ruthanne shivered. Now they understood.

  “I didn’t want to say anything, but it seems I just can deal with this alone.”

  Ellen took Gracie’s hand.

  “I knew that he would find out, eventually,” Gracie went on. “What puzzles me, is why he chose to remain silent? I was ready for the fight of my life with that boy. I just knew the second he found out about Sam and Jessie, he’d be out here in an instant, ready for blood . . . yet, not a word? And he has known since the day they arrived.”

  “Gracie. How do you know this?” asked Ruthanne curiously.

  “Yes, how?” added Ellen.

  “Well,” Gracie considered a moment. “I have my ways . . . I’m not as naive as Jimmy thinks. But what got me digging was a phone call I received from his secretary, Miss Ashton—she’s that voluptuous, shameless looking thing he hired last year as an administrative secretary,” Gracie frowned behind her cat-eyes. “She called here on my private line. She was trying to locate Jimmy. Evidently, he had an urgent appointment which was scheduled at the Salt Lake City office. I told Miss Ashton that Jimmy was in Florida, at the Cape.” Gracie paused, sipped and eyed Ellen and Ruthanne intensely. “I suppose it was the way the woman hesitated; the way she tried to cover her mistake when I told her Jimmy was in Florida. I’m sure she had been instructed to never to call here at the estate unless it was an absolute emergency.” Gracie picked up her cup. “Anyway. I knew then that Jimmy had not been in Florida for some time. So I made a few phone calls of my own—some of my old stalwarts at the corporate office. And I was right. Jimmy has not been in Florida for days. He’s been here! Right downtown! And he has known about the kids since the very day they arrived!”